


3: Blood covered justice

by LeosLust



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Fist Fights, Gen, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Shitty treatment of people in the Brume, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeosLust/pseuds/LeosLust
Summary: Gliommoux is unaware of how those in the Brume live for 17 sweet summers.
Kudos: 2





	3: Blood covered justice

It’s been several years since Gliommoux was last in Ishgard. Several years since he had last seen the city he called home. 

Several years since he got into a fight so bloody that those that lived in the Brume couldn’t recognise him as the youngest son of one of their oh-so-hated High Houses. 

He had seen seventeen summers at that point. Seventeen summers he’d been pampered and treated as royalty despite having done absolutely naught to deserve it other than to be born to one of Ishgards four High Houses. He had snuck out as the eleventh bell of the afternoon began to ring, wanting to feel the bite of the cold night air against his cheeks - still hot from the copious amounts of mulled wine he had drank barely a bell earlier. 

He had rid himself of the pompous outer layers, thinking he could easily handle whatever the skies could throw at him. He quickly discovered that he could not. Yet he didn’t wish to return to his home so soon. No, no where was the fun in that? So he continued his small adventure through the city, arms wrapped tightly around himself and body hunched forwards in a vain attempt to block the bitter winds from his chest. 

Making a short stop inside the Forgotten Knight to warm his hands at one of the torches that was lighting the establishment, Gliommoux considered briefly returning to his home, to his room and warm bed. Yet something in his gut told him to continue his small adventure. So once his hands were warmed, he made his way to the door he’d never used. The exit that led to the Brume.

Gliommoux was…  _ vaguely _ aware that those that lived in the Brume were not as fortunate as he and his family and friends. But having never actually entered the Brume, never having truly interacted with anyone that lived there… The realisation of what the people of the Brume lived with - or rather  _ without _ \- shook something within him. He hadn’t brought anything with him but the meager clothes on his back. Although even those were luxurious compared to what little the people he walked past were wearing.

Harrowing as it was to see people suffer so, Gliommoux moved onwards. Dragged his feet as he headed around and up towards the plaza. However a cry for help stopped him. And a maniacal laughter drew his attention down to beneath the stairs he was climbing.

Before he knew what he was doing, Gliommoux had dropped down from the steps and grabbed the source of the laughter by the back of their rich fur coat. Whoever it was who had called for help saw the opportunity to run and took it. 

“Gah, get off of me you insolent brat-” The man in the fur coat yelled, swinging an arm to try and hit Gliommoux. It was an easy to avoid swipe, but once the man caught a glimpse of who it was trying to stop him, he sneered. “You’re one of us aren’t you? Why are you stopping me from having my fun, eh? Or has you old man not taught you the secrets of-”

A resounding crack was heard, as Gliommoux’s tightened fist met the man’s nose. An agonised noise, and what probably would have been a curse came but was cut off by another fist, this time to the man's stomach.

Gliommoux didn’t have much in the way of training. He wasn’t expected to be a frontliner in the war with the dragons. But what little training he did have, finally found its use in beating the man before him so senseless and bloody, that it was a watcher from the Brume that had to step in and tell him he’d done enough. By then, Gliommoux’s knuckles were red, not just from the soreness of repetitive use, but from the blood the other had coughed up onto them.

When Gliommoux was berated the following morning, and shortly sent out of Ishgard to ‘atone for his crimes’, he came to the conclusion that the Brume needed more than just the single justice he had brought about that night. They needed justice for all. And that justice would be covered in blood.

**Author's Note:**

> if i missed a tag lmk cos idk if this counts as "graphic depictions of violence" or nah


End file.
